


One Laugh Never Sounds the Same

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, brief mentions of dr alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: Aaron's date, Alex falls asleep during Top Gear, before Aaron's favourite part. And all Aaron can think about is Robert.





	One Laugh Never Sounds the Same

He was asleep. Alex. Asleep before the good bit, Aaron’s favourite bit. Okay, so maybe he should have taken notice of the warning signs – Alex’s surprise and faked interest that Aaron had the Dave channel repeats on a series link; that he laughed nervously when Aaron said the episode was his favourite ( _“You have a favourite episode of…Top Gear?”_ ); that Alex had looked blankly at him when he said “V12 engine”; that there was that same stillness, the same sharp edged silences and half-finished polite laughs as when Alex had talked about the “impact of Jeremy Hunt on the NHS”. Aaron wasn’t even exactly sure who Jeremy Hunt was, beyond someone with an unfortunate surname for rhyming slang.

But what was he meant to do? In hindsight maybe he could have put a movie on, but it was getting late and he didn’t fancy the conversation that might come up during the credits at the end. The invitation that might be expected.

He turned his eyes back to the screen. It was the part he always rewound to watch again. And again sometimes.

_“You’re going to wear out that remote if you’re not careful.”_

(A voice. A memory) No. Stop.

And then straight after that there was the bit with the Aston Martin and the close up of its sleek wheels and that thrumming sound of the engine.

_“What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of those…” Aaron said._

_“Well, play your cards right and I might treat you one day.”_

_He snorted. “You don’t even like them you said.”_

_“Backseats weren’t very comfortable, were they?” He had the pink tip of his tongue out and another swig of his beer to hide the smirk._

Aaron shook himself out of it, turned the TV off and got up from the sofa, careful not to disturb Alex and taking the empty tins to the bin. He’d only managed two. Even Aaron felt like he had to slow down so as not to look like some sort of alcoholic. It was like being on his best behaviour. He was always terrible at this sort of thing.

He didn’t want to make too much noise in the kitchen, so he tied up the rubbish bag and made a glass of water to leave by the sofa.

_“Stop looking at me like that, you weirdo.”_

_Robert put his hand on Aaron’s knee, gave it a shake and a squeeze before leaning in. “I can’t help it.”_

_“I thought you had to get up for an early meeting. Why are you hanging around to watch the end of this again?”_

_“What, and miss the bit that gives you that look on your face? You look a bit cute when you’re all excited.”_

_Aaron threw the cushion at his head, but he couldn’t help himself laughing, surrendering too when Robert pushed up against him, wormed his fingers under his shirt and tickled at those soft and vulnerable patches on his waist. Aaron squirmed for breath, hooking his arms around Robert’s neck, half to distract him, half to pull him close._

_“What happened to the early night?”_

_“Changed my mind.” He kissed Aaron full on the mouth and then withdrew with a smile. “After this then…god forbid I tear you away from your dream car.”_

_“Come on,” Aaron said, drawing up at Robert’s side, cuddling into him, Robert’s solid arm around his back. “Don’t make out like you wouldn’t want to take it out for a spin.”_

_“Oh no, I would. It’s just with your driving I don’t fancy playing passenger.”_

It’s like tinnitus, following him around. A noise in his head. Robert, Robert, Robert. Everywhere and at every moment. He hates it. The reminders, the stupid memories and jokes and familiarities. They’ve grown around him. They barely lived in this house – and most of these moments are from the pub back room, all stale beer and Diane’s old décor – and yet still Aaron sees him moving, echoes of him in every part of the room. He hears songs and reads jokes that make him think of Robert. He has his head stored with useless things that once he would have told him. Stupid texts he’d have sent. He still collects thoughts like that, like an old habit, but now he has no output for them. He buries them. And inside they dig away, forming fantasies and moments that will never be. He won’t get to see the smile that he made. He won’t get to hear that blend of the two of them together, laughing.

And Aaron’s laugh never sounds the same when it’s on its own.

He takes the stairs carefully, his boots still making too much noise. He dreads the thought of Alex stirring. Of having to make an effort again. It’s not familiar or comfortable. It doesn’t come easy. He’s a stranger. He’s not the man that should be there. That man is gone.

Aaron doesn’t bother with the light in the bedroom. He blanks the other side of the room. It becomes easier now to acknowledge that it’s there, but to avoid looking at it. No lingering, no dwelling, no looking at it for too long. Robert’s side of the bed, Robert’s drawer. He tried putting his own stuff in there, just to fill the emptiness. He couldn’t live in half a room, half a house, half a bed. It didn’t matter that he felt like half a person, he had to be whole.

His counsellor said blocking things out was damaging, that it only made the problem bigger than it should be. “You could imagine your thoughts like objects,” she’d said one afternoon where he’d cried into his sleeve because he couldn’t bear the reminder that had flashed on his phone that a year ago they’d taken a ridiculous selfie before he headed to France. “Put them away in a box or a drawer. So you know they’re there if you want to access them on a day when you’re feeling strong enough. But they’re not out on show, reminding you every minute. And someday you’ll be able to take out a memory and it will have faded and maybe it won’t be so difficult to look at.”

He hadn’t asked her about concrete things, about real objects that had their own memories attached, that could sit in his palm. Aaron opened the drawer by his bed. He hadn’t felt the need to look at it in a while, but the ache inside him longed for something, something that wasn’t gone. Out from the drawer came the watch, Robert’s watch. Smooth, silver, designer. Ticking away. It wasn’t massively expensive, but Aaron had bought it for his birthday not long after they’d gotten back together. Robert thought he’d forgotten.

“You had so much going on with the trial, I didn’t…”

“You’re thirty, like I was going to forget that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to.”

Aaron shut his eyes, closing his hand around the watch. He knew. Like he’d known for days and weeks and months.

He wasn’t ready. He was still growing to become whole again.      

 


End file.
